


3042 CE

by Vodka112



Series: Project Luna [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Gore, Graphic birth process, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodka112/pseuds/Vodka112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After WWIII, mankind launches a project on the moon, project La Luna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3042 CE

**Author's Note:**

> Plot Bunny: 12. Spain’s pregnant. Due to circumstances (storm, terrorist attack, whatever) he is alone when he goes into labor and has no way to call for help. OR, the only one with him is someone who he usually doesn’t have much contact with. Like Korea, or Russia. [[From [kirin_saga](http://kirin-saga.livejournal.com/)]]
> 
> ((Influences: I read a mpreg fic once. It obviously influenced this work, aka the gym work outs and the birth in the bathroom. I don’t know how much else it influenced. >.> I don’t remember where I read the fic either… OTL))

Spain worked out. He went to the best gym in town. The locals loved him. Romano hated seeing him there. But Spain needed his exercise, especially since he couldn’t plant tomatoes on the moon.

It was 2975 CE that mankind perfected the technology to sustain a livable environment on the moon. It started the Third World War and laid most of the Earth to waste. Nations were left weary and dying… and they did… The unfortunate little ones disappeared…

Japan and America created the technology. But the corporate leaders of the world, the holders of money and power, were the ones at fault. They funded, triggered and nurtured the war.

They promised to end it would end… by making a new beginning, a new life, on _Luna_.

3020 CE. Just twenty odd years and Spain managed to convince Romano to try living with him on the moon. Another decade passed and all the remaining nations had bought their own piece of the satellite.

Maybe it was the promise of that _new life_ that enticed their people to fly.

“Hey Romano,” Spain breathed. It was a night well spent to admire the stars and the bright lights of the Earth, separated only by space and the protective glass dome that generated much needed heat and gravity. Appreciation for the beautiful view of the world above turned into liquor-laced whispers and innuendos led to a jumble of limbs moving and coaxing for part of the night.

“Doesn’t this feel more like a vacation house?” Spain laughed. His voice rang like bell tolls against the windows of their home and out into chilling space.

Romano gathered the covers around himself and mumbled, “I still don’t like it.”

Spain’s smile flickered. He scooted closer to Romano and murmured sweet but hopeless consolation before wrapping the blanket around their bodies, flushed against each other.

Romano’s scar was big and ugly on the side of his right leg, from his hips right down to his ankle. Veneziano’s life depended on it. Romano considered it a small price to pay compared to his brother’s existence, even if he disappeared for a good decade and couldn’t walk for the next. Spain knew the only way to keep him alive was to invest on the moon. Romano started walking again when the first stragglers migrated out of the Earth.

But the scar was there, still ugly and still hurting.

Romano hated the moon only because it nearly destroyed him.

  

* * *

 

Spain couldn’t hide from Romano. They fought; an exchange of bitter words. The next day, Romano packed up his things and took an early flight back to Italy. Spain watched him go.

 

* * *

 

Something was happening to him. Spain felt it. His people and Romano’s people shared a small community in the glass dome. Spain knew the unspoken rules of their mixed society, whenever a new child was born and the very breath of each of the hundred thousand or so humans he and Romano now shared. He knew their biggest dreams and fears. But he was still conscious of his people back home.

Sometimes, he imagined having a remote control in his brain. Sometimes, he was _España_. Sometimes, he was _La Luna_.

Something was happening to him…

 

* * *

 

Romano could tell when _something_ was brewing. Slowly, his consciousness of his people on the moon weakened and ceased. The moon returned to being the cold, lonely place he saw it as. He expected it. He expected Spain to feel the same pull away from the moon. If not, he expected Spain to have complete governance over _his_ people. He didn’t care. He predicted Spain to have pulled him and some of his people up there for some political or cultural reason. He didn’t believe when Veneziano cries that Spain only wanted him to heal. When did he ever believe his brother anyway?

He made absolutely sure he wanted nothing to do with the citizens on the moon. But after all ties were severed, a nagging confusion occupied his mind. There was that one thing he could not get rid of. There was that one feeling he could never describe or understand.

Is it lust, desire or greed?

He wants to own _La Luna_.

 

* * *

 

He was never one to act on stupid and reckless impulses. Maybe that was the reason he left. Southern Italy might have taken three of four decades to rise again but he did. They, his people, made sure he did.

When he lied down on the grass to look at the moon with its idiotic glass half-sphere, he thought about Spain. Maybe they shouldn’t have fought so hard… Maybe he should have stayed… What if he was in pain right now?… Romano came back to the same old Italy and Spain. Nothing was wrong or missing everywhere he looked, economically, culturally, politically and the fatality census. Nothing, except a few poisonous gases and craters, was wrong down on Earth. Nothing should be remotely wrong with Spain. Spain was still Spain, culturally and in the heart of his people. Why was he sick?

_And why did they call him La Luna?_

 

* * *

 

Spain ran. A thin screen on the wall showed a view of a forest. He heard the make-believe birds and rustling of the leaves from the concealed speakers on the walls. For that moment, his mind reverted back to the olden days. _2808\. 2654. 2312. 2005. 2000… 1000 AD…_

He imagined 2005 and lifted his feet. In his mind, his foot falls pounded weakly against soft dirt and wet leaves. Small twigs snapped under his weight. But he was euphoric. He smelled the ghost of the rain, the naturally purified air. To him, the world could have pressed a reset button and made everything new again. Fresh, cool air. Fresh, new beginning. A chance at the union of a lifetime—

A soft tapping in his lower torso stopped him. He opened his eyes to the fake images on the wall and laid a hand on his belly. Was he hungry?

A moment later, he doubled over and clutched his stomach. The stabbing, throbbing pains were so abrupt, fast to come and fast to disappear. In minutes, he lifted himself off the running mat. Sweat trickled down his face and limbs, effectively cooling his body. He took the chance to command the house.

“Monica, get my medicine. Hurry,” he rasped out. A flying, square robot came into the dark room. Two of its thin metal tentacles grasped a glass of water and a colored vial. Spain sat up as best as he could. His face contorted with disgust as he downed the colored liquid with one gulp. He reached for the water to wash down the taste.

 _“Are you alright, Antonio?”_ the mechanical voice of a woman asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Spain coughed.

 _“Is this an emergency?”_ the Personal Assistant asked.

“No,” Spain answered, “this is not an emergency.”

 _“Not emergency response activated. Thank you,”_ the computer reported.

Spain stood up and grasped the nearest wall for support. The jabbing pain dimmed down.

“What’s next on my schedule, Monica?”

_“You need to do: ‘a short shower’ and ‘some popcorn while watching a good movie.’ No time indicated for both activities. Do you want me to—”_

“No, Monica. Add ‘take a nap’ before ‘a short shower.’ Warm my bed…”

 

* * *

 

Spain sighed as the water droplets splashed all around him.

_“Water Shower. Settings. Light Rain at Level 6.24. Centered. Current temperature…”_

Spain let the machine talk about the shower settings. Romano insisted they took this shower when they built the house. Spain didn’t play with the settings in most parts of the house, including the bathroom, since Romano already marked those as his territories. Even when Romano went back to Earth, he still didn’t mess with them.

 _“Mr. Lovino asks_ ‘How do you like this now, dumbass?’ _, Antonio,”_ the PA replayed again.

“I like it very much. I love you too,” he chuckled. Romano’s voice was a rarity these days. Spain cherished each and every recording.

_“Reply recorded. When should I play it back?”_

“When Roma— Mr. Lovino comes home.”

 _“Message recorded and set to play_ ‘When Mr. Lovino comes home…’ _Do you need anything else, Antonio?”_

“Cook the popcorn.”

_“I’m on it!”_

Spain sighed contentedly at the warm and silent pitter patter of the water on the glass (or was that plastic) door of the shower. Romano was right. Spain loved the shower. And the bed. And the outdoors simulator. Even the PA. He debated with himself: should he cry or should he laugh? He regretted picking a fight with Romano. He purposely chose the sore topic he knew Romano always lost at. Even though Romano was genuinely worried.

He forgot what came over him. Was he that angry? Why was he angry anyway? Not that it mattered anymore. Romano refused to answer any of his calls and messages. Spain wanted to go back home to Earth and apologize.

And Spain also wanted to stay at _Luna_.

He giggled at the thought of cloning nations. It just wasn’t possible. Even with their strange lifestyle, being in two places at once was just not part of the perks.

Romano was worried. He was too. He tried to pinch the fat on his arms. He reminisced the concerned glances sent on his way. The extra thickness, as Romano loved to put it, were his muscles… or what was left of it…

He tried to get rid of the weight he gained but nothing worked, not the public gym or even their outdoors simulator. After a couple of months, he couldn’t even lift any of the kettle weights anymore. He fainted. He puked. He had a high fever that drove Romano nuts. The symptoms ceased the next month.

Spain blamed his body adapting to the new environment. He told that lie to Romano. The fever, nausea and fatigue were easier to ignore as the days went on. But the pain, that stabbing, jabbing, furious pain, he failed to hide that. He never expected there to be pain. He received a slap on his cheek for that.

And, of course, no Romano.

To be honest, Spain didn’t think Romano will be back for a long while. The younger nation’s tantrum would probably last another decade or—

A sharp intake of breath. Spain threw his back to the wall. His mouth hanged wide open. It was not poss—

It came a second time. Spain’s knees crumbles under his weight. His legs spread themselves on the tiled floor, each foot pushed hard against the wall. Spain breathes short and shallow puffs of air, his eyes wide with shock—

He screamed. He clenched his fist tightly, his arms over his slightly bulging stomach. He felt another stab coming—

Another scream. The pain tore through him, splicing him open. But where? Tears ran down his face and disappeared into the warm water. _And blood?_ Why was there blood? Was he dying?

_“… emergency…”_

“NO! This is not— AAAAAaaah!— This isn’t an e-emergency! Call NO ONE!”

It was that emergency response program again! Spain didn’t have the time nor the thought to spare. He was bleeding down there. He needed to know, to see what the problem was—

A hot wire of electricity passed through his body, raking and grating on each and every nerve. Like a hot knife slicing his body open. He was shaking. Push? His body was urging him to push? Push what?

In his muddled mind, he heard the PA.

“ _Emergency Code Green Activated. Calling Mr. Lovino…”_

Spain gritted his teeth to stop his screams.

“D-Don’t—Ugh! Drop that c-call,” he gasped.

_“Emergency response engaging, No outer command available at this time—”_

“uuuuuuhhhhHHHAAAAAAHHH!”

When he came through the haze of pain, he heard the call go to Romano’s voice mail.

 _“I’m in a conference right now, or sleeping. Either way, I’m busy! Quit bothering me!”_ Romano’s voice snapped.

Spain yelled one last time before the beeping ended.

_“Your message will now be recorded.”_

“DROP THE CALL,” he growled, “Drop the—aaAAAH—mmmpf!”

His hand smothered his mouth and his nose. He didn’t even want to breathe. _He would not push. He would not push. There should be NOTHING to push!_

“Please,” he whimpered through the closed door next to him, “just drop t-the call…”

His voice shook and he sniffed.

_“Message recorded.”_

“Get me a little towel, Monica,” he weakly mumbled.

_“Command ‘get a little towel’ accepted.”_

The floating robot’s thin tentacles opened the shower door and held a small, thick towel. Spain hastily grabbed the material and shoved it into his mouth. He released it again only to speak.

“Don’t get i-into you emerg-gency p-program. H-Hide in the couch t-till I call you.”

_“Command ‘disable emergency program and hide in couch’ accepted.”_

The PA floated off and closed the doors behind it. Spain bit into the towel and courageously trailed a hand down between his thighs, below his balls. _There…_

_What was that?_

He cried into the towel. Muffled shrieks hurt his jaws and his throat all the same. But now he wouldn’t accidentally bite his lips or his tongue. He could feel himself opening more. His fingers were sticky with blood but that _thing_. _It_ felt like nothing that can come from him. _It_ was big and round like a ball and _it_ had hair—

He couldn’t take the pain anymore. He withdrew his hand and lifted both arms behind his head.

And pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

His head bumped against the wall occasionally. His chest heaved with effort and his arms ached from shielding his head. He saw blotches of light and dark in his eyes. He yelled. He didn’t notice how he was looking up at the shower head till he brought his head down.

He nearly fainted.

It was a head… a tiny head of a baby.

A baby.

He was pregnant?

He was giving birth?!

Fear turned his bones to cold jelly. He felt the blood drain from his head, literally. His head swerved before resting on the wall behind him. The contractions were still there but he had lost the urge to act. He felt sick. He wanted to puke so badly. He swallowed bile as his gaze traveled down between his legs again. There were feces around the baby’s head, protruding between his thighs. It was covered in patches of white muck that looked like cheese. It didn’t appear to be moving. His vision swam.

A huge wave of pain coursed down from his torso. He looked up at the shower head and scrunched his face in pain.

He gave one final push.

Relief and relaxation flooded his body. He smelled strongly of metal and feces. He lowered teary eyes at the unmoving little body lying in the middle of all this gunk.

Did it die?

Why wasn’t it moving?

Why wasn’t it MOVING?!

The ground dissolved. The nausea came back, prodding at the back of his mind. Did it die? Did it die?

The baby hiccuped… and gave a cough that shook its entire body. Then it cried.

Spain looked around him. Walls, water, blood, baby, blood, feces, walls. He flinched while picking up the baby.

It’s warm. As he cradled the crying baby to his chest, he noticed _she_ was warm. _A girl._ It was screaming like a banshee but it was a girl. Her skin was wrinkled and covered in patches of the same white muck that covered part of her head. Spain’s hands quivered and his body grew cold. He cupped the head of the baby to his neck as he released the contents of his stomach to the bathroom floor.

He coughed and sputtered. Light tremors ran back and forth his body. There was still the afterbirth…

 

* * *

 

That night, news all over the world celebrated the newly formed independent nationality of La Luna.


End file.
